Assalaamualaikum, Syria.

Assalaamualaikum Syria. I don’t know what to say. How are you… maybe? It seems so feeble, my attempt to show you I care.

I’ve heard you haven’t been well; worse than not well in fact – I heard it’s been like hell. You’re caught like a pawn in a game of death… in a war that was never yours to fight. Yet each day you carry on forward, bloodied and battered in your plight.

I saw on the news the father cradling his two – two tiny angels, just 10 months on this earth… returned to their Lord. I saw his pain Syria, the broken pieces of his heart piercing through his eyes – and I prayed for him; for his strength, and even one day, for his smile.

I saw the American poet, with every inch of you running through her veins. I saw her almost break down as she spoke so eloquently to the world, a world I wish was listening. 11 family members taken. In just one attack. Just. Like. That.

Syria, I saw the British doctor, risking her life to save some of yours. She’s haunted by memories like the plague – the plague that has struck you so strongly, there are just no signs of it running it’s course.

I heard Trump, dear Syria. Lies through his teeth, remorse in his words, blackness in his heart – he told the world that he was standing with you. But be careful dear Syria, even those who call you their ‘friend’ can stab you in the back. He did that the very next day didn’t he? Just. Like. That.

Syria, I don’t know and I can’t tell you where it will end. I just don’t know if every innocent man, woman, child and baby that stands on your land will have to be killed before it does – or if they will have to perish at sea trying to get away from you. I just don’t know Syria, but I promise you, I promise you that you are on my mind and deep, deep in my heart.